On a good day, parenting will test the integrity of your character. On a bad day, parenting will test your will to live. Parenting children with trauma histories will cause you to test the integrity of everything and everyone you thought you knew, for the rest of your life.
~J. Skrobisz
Showing posts with label link. Show all posts
Showing posts with label link. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

In It

Are you IN it?

When I taught Physical Science (my favorite - yes, i actually do LOVE teaching eighth graders)one of my favorite lessons was about mixtures, solutions and suspensions. I enjoyed bringing every day household items from home to demonstrate the differences. Making science come to life with ordinary objects is the way I teach.

Applying science to abstract life concepts is the way I process my emotions and experiences. Despite the fact that science is ever changing as humanity continually uncovers the mysteries that govern our world from the cosmic to the microscopic, science can be trusted. There is methodology, proofs, data collection, analysis, continued study, hypotheses, theories and eventually, laws. The road to discovering new medications for bipolar disorder is the same road to discovering new moons. There's room for error which provides opportunity to learn but science is a constant that can be relied upon. The constancy of science is crucial to my ability to trust: to trust the earth upon which I stand, the air I breathe, the rising of the sun and ultimately, humanity.

Trusting the fallacy of humanity is not an easy undertaking. It begins with first accepting that I am fallible. Then it progresses to acknowledging that humanity's fallibility does not necessarily deem utter soul corruption. Without trust, the universe has nothing. The Earth's gravitational force "trusts" that the moon will not careen into the surface and destroy our planet. The planets in our solar system "trust" that the nuclear explosions on the surface of the sun will continue to provide radiant energy. Likewise, Oxygen "trusts" that the single electron in two Hydrogen molecules will create a polar molecule in which all eight electrons are shared to make the most unique and stable molecule in the universe; a molecule upon which life earns a foundation. Science, therefore, proves that trust is essential for good things to happen.

How then do we approach a RAD child? How do we teach trust a mind that has incorrect imprinting that suggests at the most basic level of needs that humanity and this world can NOT be trusted? How do we salvage what is lost before we find ourselves dodging the bullets of one more utterly corrupted soul? And what then, shall we do if the mind itself is organically diseased from the start?

As with anyone, you begin with Maslow's Hierarchy of needs. The first step is physical needs. For many RAD children or children with trauma and abuse histories, they never get past this level. They remain in daily mental torment that their physical needs will not be met, such is the erroneous imprinting in their brains.

The second step is safety. It is easy to assume that once a child is adopted into a loving, nurturing home that they are inherently "safe" but if a child hasn't accepted the first level of their needs, regardless of how safe you make their living environment, they can not progress to this level.

Levels three through five are goals to strive for but for many, never achievable. But then, how many functioning adults without abuse and trauma histories actually achieve that level? Do YOU? Take some time to process it for yourself. Are you having a hard time with your RAD child? Could it be because you haven't achieved your own self-awareness? There's always a place to start in therapeutically parenting our children and as much as we don't want to admit it, that starting place is always us, the parents. So are you IN it?

1. Are you and your child a mixture?
A mixture is a something that is made up of two more more substances that are mixed together, but not chemically combined.

in this relationship, you and your child may be cohabitating and blending but you can still separate one from the other with ease.

2. Are the two of you a suspension?
when two un-mixable substances are in a container together, usually one a liquid and the other a solid

in this relationship, you and your child can come together with aggressive mixing or agitation but left alone, you both separate.

3. Are you a solution?
a homogeneous mixture of one or more solutes dissolved in a solvent

In this relationship, there is no separation, the two of you make something entirely new together with it's own properties. In this relationship, you are IN it! Sugar, koolaid powder and water individually are nothing fancy in and of themselves but stir them altogether and VOILA!



What does being "IN IT" look like from a therapeutic parenting point of view? Here's the last 24 hours of events that became the inception of this post:

Sissy's emotions were spinning her into a whirlwind. She was smart mouthing, hollering, screaming, hoarding food, provoking, false illnesses and all the wonderful RADilicious behaviors I'm used to seeing. It started yesterday afternoon and continued on through this morning. My initial instinct was to smart mouth, holler, scream, provoke and overeat right back. Instead, I called an "I'm not talking to you" truce. Once she settled down I was able to think FOR her. what is going on? what does she need? What is happening in her head that she can't process on her own? In what way do I need to be IN her head to help her?" As soon as I had a moment's peace to be IN her, to blend into a solution with her instead of insisting on being a mixture or a suspension with my own physical properties, I saw it.

Without saying a word, I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote at the top: "Things Mom Knows are Bothering You." Then I listed four things I thought were eating at her. I slid the paper across to her and said, "Check the ones that are true, add any that I forgot"

She circled two and said, "That's it mom. I don't have any others." She slid the paper back to me.

"OK.  I made a crisis call to your therapist and she said you needed a consequence for your behaviors yesterday. That consequence will be to journal about these two things after homework today."

"Alright."

"Hug time?"

"Yeah." I hugged her, she cried a little and it was over. ALL of it. All the RAD behaviors stopped, including the mysterious sore throat.

IN it. Be IN it. Be in it with your own needs so you can be in it with your child's needs. Make a solution with your child in which together, you trust one another to make something new and wonderful TOGETHER. Step by step, your child will achieve her own hierarchy of needs but you have to be committed to be IN IT, every day.

Now go make some koolaid and trust the universe to catch you when you fall.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Stop walking on Eggshells

AB will be 11 tomorrow. He had friends over today to celebrate, a first ever experience. Just two classmates, a sunny afternoon, some pizza and cupcakes and it was perfect. They jumped on the trampoline, played Wii, laughed and had fun. I was so glad to have this milestone for him finally! Perhaps it will be the beginning of many more fun afternoons with AB and his friends.

Sissy is still managing well with only the minor hygiene relapse now and again. The first week of school is behind her and she's still happy. Although she's not happy with the fact that I've asked her to reshower. I knew it was too good to be true when she emerged out of the bathroom this morning so quickly. I don't think she even bothered to use shampoo. I keep telling myself, "one day at a time. Just one day at a time."

WG's hair is getting a trim this week, she was showing off when her cousin was here last week and snuck the children's scissors into her bedroom and snipped at her locks. Hopefully her Aunt can patch up the damage. She's been on restriction this week for several reasons and has just now finished writing her paragraphs about being respectful and apologizing. I've just now torn up the restriction contract because she has met all of her obligations. As hard as it is to discipline children, it's still much more rewarding to discipline when the child accepts responsibility and begins to modify her behavior. Sure, she shouts, hollers and screams with the rest of the humans on the globe but she always moves forward, not backward. Tuesday I'm taking her out of school for the day so she can meet her therapist (yes, she is FINALLY getting an individual therapist to help her with the struggles of living in a home with challenged siblings!) and so spend some quality mommy/daughter time. I'm excited and she is too.

Even the dog is feeling better. Gone are the days she wallows in pity, lying in the middle of the hallway or getting under foot. She's even surrendered licking her paws, they've almost healed up.

Some of the most crucial changes have come from my own self-reflection. In the past few months I've learned to strive for what I want and need: to stop sacrificing myself for the good of others. Ultimately, putting myself last results in hurting the people I love instead of helping them. If for no other reason, it shortens my fuse and makes me less tolerant in the long run.

I've also learned to set limits and boundaries; to refuse to yield when the people I love begin to take more from me than I am able to give them either by taking their anger and frustration out on me or by asking me to compromise my own needs. An oft heard phrase in the house now is "I have the right to use the bathroom without interruption!" Or some other variance of the same sentiment. Seriously, I've put off even my most basic bodily functions to meet the needs of someone else. Nope. If I have to pee or poop, by God, I'm not going to solve your conflict for you until I've eliminated, thank you very much. Oh, and if I decide to take 10 minutes to eliminate, that's also got to be acceptable. I think by 37, I've earned the right to squat for a minute or two.

Lastly (but only for now as I consider myself to be on a perpetual journey to self-discovery), I've acknowledged that I am allowed to love myself. Hug myself. Reward myself (within reason). Be kind to myself. Be respectful of myself. Take care of myself. Reach for goals and dreams because I'm allowed to have that in this life and I've denied myself those very entitlements because I haven't loved myself enough. Instead, I've tried to love everyone else hoping that the love would reflect back in equal measure. Guess what? It doesn't. Ever. No matter what the nature of the relationship or how transcendent the individual. You can't love another until you first love yourself.

Does this self-discovery equate the change in Sissy? Maybe. Maybe not. I can't definitively declare that she's "better." I've witnessed her remissions before only to be catapulted into the next manic storm. But it does give me power to affect MY future, MY well-being, MY happiness and the direction of my next ten minutes regardless of what the actions and reactions are of the people I love in that same ten minutes. In effect, I've stopped walking on eggshells.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

This and That

It's been a VERY busy week and a half.  I'll be back later with more to talk about but for now, will you consider visiting my Etsy store?  We're still working on paying off AB's dental appliance bill.  Thanks!


http://www.etsy.com/shop/peaceinpuzzles

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Rebar

Even though my CBC came back normal and my mono test was negative, I still feel like crud. The antibiotic I'm on is making me ill and my initial symptoms are not lessening. I HATE being ill, HATE feeling unproductive, HATE being physically incapable of keeping up with the everyday nuances of life. I know I should just rest and let my body recover but it's SO hard to slow down after so many days of nonstop manic crazy with Sissy. Because every day with Sissy is non stop manic crazy.




I'm sitting in the garage enjoying the sunshine, hoping the vitamin D will help, if nothing else, it should lift my mood. I did the same last night and enjoyed a beautiful rising harvest moon. I rather like being outdoors, it's soothing. I have silly notions of suspending a hammock from the rafters in the garage so I can just sleep out here too. I'd have to reinforce it though, no way it would hold my weight currently. But hey, at least I've slept through the night for two nights in a row. First time since the week before Sissy's discharge.

How is she? Pbft. Same old same old. She's not going to receive her treatment while at the hospital. I'm beginning to think she's hit a wall mentally and will never be able to see the need to receive her treatment. This past year I've tried to stand outside of her needs emotionally so I can gain a neutral perspective, not an easy thing to do because for all her challenges, i do so love her, very, very much.

Standing on the outside I can see, she's just missing so many fundamental pieces, as though someone forgot to lay down the rebar before pouring the cement on the bridges in her infant brain. Civil engineers just destroy the erroneous bridge and build again. Therapists, psychiatrists and medication can do little more than hop out on the precarious bridges of an unstable mind and patch up the gaps with quickrete. And even then, it only works if the bearer of the mind is prepared to accept the quickrete. Without scoring of the contact surface, the quickrete won't hold fast. Sissy, it seems, is unwilling to let the surfaces of her mind be scored and prepped for patchwork. Some days I think it's choice, other days, i grievously accept that such is the nature of a damaged mind.

I watched The Soloist yesterday. Point of fact, I watch many programs about persons with various challenges. Seems television, literature and the box office are riddled with the fascinating machinations of the altered mind. Sure, I tell myself, it's all fascinating when your daily life isn't sinking in the quicksand of that living hell. Put on waders and get in this muck with me and it won't be fascinating anymore, it will be a nightmare.

The movie, based on this book, is excellent at pointing out that for some mentally ill persons, recovery as neurotypical citizens understand the concept, is a foreign and unwanted prospect. It begins with the individual first recognizing the need for self change; they must understand that their mind is misfiring, that the reality they know and live isn't a healthy one. It's a huge hurdle and judging by the content of the film, and many other media programs on the subject, a hurdle that is never surmounted.

Some will argue that the human species is evolving mentally, stating that the rise in mental disease and the savant autistic and schizophrenic minds are nature attempting to increase the mental capacity and acuity of the human brain. Others will argue that the attempts of SSDI, mental health and faith-based initiatives to steer the mentally ill toward functionality are thwarting natural selection, a sort of biological eugenics, if you will. It can be argued that the continuance of support for the unyielding challenged, alcoholic, addicted or retarded mind perpetuates the subsequent generations of equally or more damaged persons. In tandem, the human species is riddled with a rise in infertility. Ergo, we have to ask ourselves as a society if we've set the stage for adoption and fostering of ill children by sane people unintentionally.

Bear with me a minute. If "crazy" doesn't know it's off kilter, it's not going to see the need for change. Indeed, "crazy" will perceive it as normal. 90,000 homeless people on the streets in L.A., many of them mentally ill, most of them unwilling to get help, some self-reporting that this is their chosen lifestyle, that they are happy and free.

Enter the "sane" who think "crazy" is crazy so they try to undo crazy. Except crazy doesn't want to be undone.  Worse yet, some "crazy" is set in stone by organic issues: generations of crazy begetting crazy. Thus it becomes a tug of war equal to the attempt to change the current of the Mississippi to run back toward the great lakes instead of the gulf. The very thought of it is enough to drive the sane mad themselves.

Perhaps, the best approach as the movie presents, is to just love "crazy", make sure inalienable rights are afforded and then let "crazy" do what crazy is going to do. Does Sissy love us? She says she does. Does she love us the way sane minds love? Does she perceive the difference? No to both and she never will. It is an injustice to expect anything different from her. It will make ME crazy in the end.

It is not the life path I thought I was on, to say the least. Neither is it a life path that can be properly explained so the reader or listener can fully comprehend the magnitude, weight and scope of this thing called parenting a mentally ill child. Nearly 400 posts and I think I'm just beginning to help people see what I live daily, what has become the connecting fiber of my existence.

Oh what I would give for some rebar.


Sunday, August 14, 2011

Who am I?

Describe myself in 500-5000 words without referring to one of the roles I play in life: daughter, sister, wife, mother, employee, etc. A personal exercise recommended by Corey

I am a 36 year old woman but I feel like I’m 56 on a good day. I’ve always felt older than my chronological age in part because I felt like the circumstances of my early childhood required me to grow up sooner than my peers. I also feel older because the continuing hardships and crises I have endured in my 36 years seem to have added time to my body.

My body. My body has been an enemy. As a child, I was always sick, picking up whatever infection was running around the community, church or school. I joke but it’s true, I have a vomit story for every year of grade school. At age 8 the doctors were afraid I had leukemia. By age 14 my menstruation had started late and with a vengeance, marking a lifelong trial with my hormones. By 19 my thyroid was slowing down. At 23 I was diagnosed with hyperprolactinemia and a microadenoma on my pituitary gland in my brain. I took a year of oral chemo, a year I don’t remember much about because of the medication. I have fibrocystic breasts, polycystic ovaries, endometriosis, and an aging uterus, the doctor predicts it is at least 10 years older than the rest of my body. I had a pre-cervical cancer scare in my late twenties and was diagnosed with hypothyroid disease by age 22. All of this adds up to a lifetime of infertility, a personal loss so monumental that I’ve never learned how to deal with it. It has also meant a lifetime of battling my weight, another struggle that has made it hard for me to love myself.

My childhood was difficult, my father died when I was just 12. We moved a year after his death to a completely different community and lifestyle.  I never fit in.  I was ridiculed by my peers.  Every day of my adolescence felt like a struggle to survive. My driving force was the plan to become a physician.

Without a solid foundation in my formative years, college proved difficult socially and emotionally, both of which impeded my ability to function academically. I changed career course and pursued a less demanding profession in community health education. The pinnacle of that choice was during my internship. After that, it felt like a ruse, it didn’t amount to anything because in Georgia, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. I feel like a failure in my career. I’ve always been so smart and I’m not using that talent. Because money is a necessity for life, I stumbled upon an opportunity to teach. I kept that path for 13 years but it always felt like the wrong fit, like trying to wear gloves on the wrong hands. They still keep your hands warm and dry but it’s awkward to use them and it impedes dexterity.

For a long time, music was my soul, a way to express myself because I didn’t feel like I could emote in any other meaningful way. Through a serious of upsets, ridicules and other such nonsense that goes on in the pride-filled world of music, I gave it up. The pain was too much after already having born so much loss. Now words are my tool. It might be thought that I hide behind my words. I would argue that words give me power to speak my mind in a concise way without being ridiculed. I have perfected the art of speaking truth to others without ostracizing them. In most cases, this approach gains me many allies but occasionally it backfires and I find myself in a position of defense instead of offense. I know that my words are my weapon, more of a shield. I wield my intellect verbally because it feels like that is all I have left to defend myself. I also use my words to paint pictures, to make what I’m thinking and feeling tangible to my listener. I feel my poetry best captures the essence of my soul. Blogging helps me sort out my feelings. I need to feel heard. So often, despite my verbose nature, I still feel like the proverbial Charlie Brown teacher in the background: wah-wah wah-wah wah wah-wah.

Some days I reflect on my life and I think of all the wonderful things I have been afforded. But most days I have to make a concerted effort to love, to life, to breathe, to laugh, to find the positives, to hug, to touch, to relax, to just let be what will be. Because I feel like I’ve endured a lifetime of struggles and grievances, most of them unjust and not the result of my poor choices, it really does feel overwhelming and burdensome to be me. 36 years? feels like 72. On the days I feel particularly discouraged I think of an imaginary woman in a third world country. I imagine her hardships and her pain, knowing my life circumstances pale in comparison. I pray for her and her family. This helps me keep it in perspective. Life can ALWAYS get worse and I am blessed to not only be living in a wealthy nation but to have complete use of my faculties and am able to feed, clothe and educate my children.

I always have a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I will die an early death like my father or that my spouse will succumb in an untimely manner as well, leaving me alone to bear the burden of our children. I tell myself it is irrational fear. Intellectually I can accept it but my physical body and my emotions want to cling to it like a sock on a sheet fresh out of the dryer. When I see old couples together, I close my eyes tight and imprint the images in my memory, willing it to be my future: as an old woman sitting beside her spouse of 50+ years. I think to myself, that ironically, it will be at that point in my life in which I will believe I am truly a beautiful person.

My faith has had many dips and turns and upsets. I don’t like to ride roller coasters in real life because they are too scary and because they symbolize what life feels like for me in reality, my faith in particular. I’ve learned so many erroneous things about religion, Christ and scripture; it’s hard to trust any of it. I know that my fear is of man and the damage man has brought to the truth of a very simple scriptural principle. Nonetheless, I’m more likely to shy away from faith than I am to run to it. I find it hard not to be angry that my life has been so hard by comparison to those around me and that the hardships my family endures have no obvious end. God seems to be able to spare the wrath in others’ lives while my own life feels doomed and cursed from the very beginning. And then there’s the nagging question: what if God as I’ve come to understand the concept, doesn’t exist after all? What if it’s just a nice story to help soothe the screaming masses?

I think too much. A flaw of mine. I often yell at myself in my head to shut the hell up because geez, it can get heady in my head.

I’ve been blessed to call two people “best friend.” Some people don’t ever have one but I’ve found two beautiful souls that will accept my idiosyncrasies and love me anyway. They are safe and will tell me truths about myself that I cannot see; truths that will make me stronger, not weaker. I don’t always want to hear that I have to fix something about myself. It makes me angry at first but then when I have time to think it over, I usually find that I agree. I always consider these friends as better than me.

My think it over time usually occurs in the bathroom. Often, if on the spur I’m expected to solve a problem or answer a question that for no obvious reason stresses me out, I just go to the bathroom or take a shower and voila. Magic. I can sort it out and solve the issue. Piece o’ cake. I like this about me. It makes me able to laugh at myself.

I have a great laugh. It’s loud but it’s contagious. And I like to laugh. It feels good. It feels safe and free.

I struggle with self-love because I don’t believe I’m worthy of love. It might have been the abuse of my childhood or the loss of my father but it is very hard for me to love myself and to receive love from others. I struggle to accept compliments that are not conditional. Unconditional praise just rolls off because I cannot absorb it, it is too broad. But if someone says something specific about me or what I’ve done, I feel very warm and emotional. It makes my knees weak and sometimes brings tears to my eyes. I guess then, I have trouble accepting that I’m loveble. I stand in front of the mirror, sometimes naked and I tell myself that I am beautiful, that I am loveable, and that I’m worthy to be loved. I know that one day this ritual will sink in and I’ll wear that truth without needing daily affirmations. I long for that day.

I feel as though my potential in this life has been robbed and stripped away. I feel that there were so many other amazing things I could have done with my talents. I get frustrated that we live so meagerly when I could have had a job that was more than adequate to supply all our wants and needs and more. I console myself with empty thoughts of I wouldn’t really be happier with more. I can’t know that such an existence would make all the emotional pain and voids I suffer diminish. I tell myself these things but I don’t always believe it.

I pride myself on my integrity of character. It is what I stand for, it is the moral compass by which I govern my life. If I cannot be a woman of integrity, than I am nothing. What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world but loses his soul? Nothing. Nothing at all. That is why at all odds and costs, I will pursue integrity. I am also very conscientious, perhaps to a fault. I will put the needs and desires of others above myself, believing they will return the favor. The reality is that not everyone is governed by the same codes of conduct. My personal codes of conduct are not the norm and as a result, I often feel cheated by humans. I tell myself it is because I live with high ideals and I cannot expect others to do the same but still, it chafes me.

I love dogs and have recently discovered I love horses. I need to be outdoors as it restores my sanity. Swimming is my chosen exercise regime. Hummingbirds fascinate me and lilies are my favorite flower. Purple is and always will be my favorite color. I feel comfortable behind the wheel of my minivan but sometimes I think I might really enjoy driving a race car and most definitely a motorcycle. I want to travel the country and I want to go to Europe, if nothing else, to see the place of my father’s birth. I recently learned I have dual citizenship in Germany which is very cool although also sad to know that I represent the generation in the aftermath of WWII. I also want to journey to NJ to see my father’s graveside. I haven’t been there in 25 years.

My bucket list includes but is not limited to:
getting a PhD
flying in a hot air balloon
owning a small farm
travelling abroad
seeing all 50 states of the US
go on a cruise
learn to fly a plane

I want my body to be scrapped for spare parts and the remains to be cremated, my ashes thrown to the sea. At my memorial service I want the songs I’ll fly away, fly like an eagle, Free bird in whatever order, I don’t care. I want a tree planted on library grounds with a placard and a bench beside it that is in memoriam to me.

*****************************************************************
DON'T FORGET! The orlando fundraiser auction is going on now! Bid on your favorites and help moms of attachment challenged children get a much needed respite.

the quilts I made for the auction. Don't bid here. Go to the link above to make your bids! hurry, the auction ends 8/25/11!

Friday, August 12, 2011

Auction quilts

All quilts are lap size, perfect for tossing on the back of the sofa, snuggling with while reading a book, drinking coffee or feeling cozy. Auction begins on the 15th at Watching the Waters. Proceeds go toward the Orlando 2012 trip, a respite for the women that love, nurture and parent adoptive or foster children with special needs.

Christmas quilt

Back of Christmas quilt

I Spy Quilt
Ideal for learning challenged and autism spectral kids. Help them learn nouns and hone their visual processing skills.

Back of I Spy Quilt

Heart Strings Quilt
Great Christmas gift idea for your teen daughter

Back of Heart Strings Quilt

Matching over-night bag with enough room to pack clothes, toiletries and the quilt.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

It's nice to be normal

They weren't surprised, the hospital staff that is. "Sissy, you're back," they politely acknowledged. Some got a manic reply of jumbled nonsense from her, others got a mute response with a deer-in-the-headlights gaze.

Some of the residents on the preteen female unit saw her and were glad to see her. I said hopefully in her ear, "See! I told you there would still be girls here you knew!" My turn for the mute response from her.

Intake was a flurry and a frenzy of staff and note taking and signing papers and them gathering data, furiously writing down my words, nodding their heads, speaking in code to one another about the situation, etc. Same old, same old.

Sadly, we learned that the family therapist that attended our case in the spring, the one I thought had dropped us on our heads, passed away. She had taken and emergency medical leave and succumbed quickly to her cancer. Really, she was one of the best we've ever had, that's why we were so stunned by the sudden cessation of care. The staff at the hospital did not see fit to divulge her private information to the residents and their families, thus the reason we felt like we were getting locked out.

And potentially the reason Sissy got sent home in June. Her therapist passed two days after Sissy's discharge, the hospital and Sissy's unit was in complete upheaval. No one submitted an appeal to the review board, no one set us up on the waiver, Sissy literally fell through the cracks.

The staff, hearing of this summer's events (and actually there was a whole lot more crap that went on but so much of it was not what I considered bloggable), realized and verbalized that they need to push Sissy harder to get her to demonstrate her behaviors in the hospital. This is music to my ears because it could potentially mean that Sissy will get a longer stay. [1]

The rest of us are all exhausted. All I've done is sleep. My house is in shambles. It hasn't looked this disheveled since they were babies. It doesn't help that for the past three weeks I've ignored some of my own physical symptoms, putting off a trip to the doctor. Got tested for mono today - negative, thankfully. Still waiting for the CBC results but I'm not expecting to hear a "within normal" result. Started on antibiotics today. I guess the house will be messy for a few more days.

Thankfully, the 56 days Sissy was home wasn't so long that it will require a recovery time for us to get back to normal. I asked Sissy's IFI therapist to come by in a week or two to observe our family being normal. In the past, therapists have insisted that it's in my head, that Sissy couldn't possibly be driving the crazy train in our home. I want professionally documented proof that I'm not insane, Sissy is unequivocally the engineer of our family's mayhem. Tonight AB and WG were sitting on the recliner sofa, sharing milk duds and watching episodes of dinosaur programs on net.flix, both of them worried about me and trying to take care of me in their individual ways. I just smiled and let them; it's nice to be normal.

[1] APS medical review boards review psychiatric placement cases based on the previous 30 days of behavior exhibited while in a hospital. If the patient does not display any behaviors that need to be treated, then it is deemed that s/he has no medical necessity for the placement and therefore they are denied payment of further hospitalization. At which point, the parent/caregiver can continue paying the cost of said placement, take the child home or refuse to take the child home. A refusal is considered a psychiatric lockout and the caregivers are immediately processed through CPS abuse investigation.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Preparations 101: A Photo Essay

Or this post could also be named Nausea as I'm listening to Beck at the moment. Seemed appropriate because good Lord, I've done this too many times and I know it's just the tip of the ice berg. By the time ya'll are reading this post, I'll be on the same nauseating road to the metro area to deliver Sissy to the same hospital, meet with the same intake team, the same nurse staff and the brand-new unit director (here's to change. woot.)

Step One: click play on this video



Step Two: Buy elastic shoe laces and velcro-closure shoes
(standard shoelaces are a hanging risk for suicidal patients. Zippers, buckles and other metal closures are potential weapons)


Step Three: Buy new pajama bottoms
(some residents have been sexually abused and the all-girl unit has shared rooms. Pajama bottoms deters the risk of the residents playing looksee.)

Incidentally, the draw strings have to be either cut, removed or sewn down so they are not removable. See also: rules for shoes.

Step Four: Do five loads of laundry so the resident's items are washed and ready to pack and because, by golly, everyone's laundry needed to be cleaned too.



Step Five: turn up the volume on the video because this really IS getting nauseating. And to think, between all the RTC stays and crisis stabilization stays, I've done this um... let's see, six or seven times in twenty-one months?

Step Six: Recover the comforter to extend it's life, toss the disgusting matching pillow sham and, after tears and sobbing, agree to make a matching pillow case. Then decide, if the blanket has been to every hospital stay, so has the pillow.

Step Seven: Buy new pillow



Step Eight: Copy the therapy book we picked up at the library
(It was serendipity. I got the book from the library the same day her IFI therapist decided to go back to the beginning with Sissy and discuss infancy and attachment.)[1]

Step Nine: Go through every photo album in the house to make color copies of photos to update her pocket-sized photo book.

Note: it must be polyvinyl and cardstock. No metal rings, no wire spirals. See also, rules for shoes.



Step Ten: Buy new rubbermaid bins to deliver personal items

note: you are not likely to get these back so don't spend a lot. See also: dollar store.


aside: you aren't likely to get many things back, actually. So be forewarned, anything you send with your child has the risk of magically disappearing. As Sissy proclaimed today, someone on the unit must have spied on her last time when she was hiding her temporary tattoos, her rewards for attending therapy, because they always ended up being taken.


Step Eleven: hit replay on the video above and crank it up. Remember, I'm on the road, driving to and from a psychiatric hospital ... again. Oh nausea

Step Twelve: make a strong pot of coffee


Step Thirteen: fill up the net.flix watch-instantly cue with a bunch of feel-good romantic comedies. Click "play" on the one that looks to be the most hysterical.

Note: don't read all the stupid reviews. what the heck do they know? life is funny as hell when you think about it. After all, as Sissy's fortune cookie read last week, life is a tragedy for those who feel and a comedy for those who think. (Ironic, isn't it?) So don't waste your time wondering what other people think. You already know what's funny.

Step Fourteen: prepare your coffee, grab a pen and begin. The stack of intake papers is long. Oh, so very, very long.


Aside: I flipped through the stack this evening as I said to AB, "you think you have a lot of homework now? Just wait until you're a grown up! I have to finish this TONIGHT!"

Oh, and my secret sister has a picture of me filling out this exact same paper work while in Orlando in March. The.Exact.Same.Paperwork. Oh nausea... SECRET SISTER HUG! Thanks for the card Angela, it was awesome if for no other reason than it made Sissy mad that I got mail today. BTW, nice timing!



And that, my friends, is how you prepare your child (and your family) for the next psychiatric hospitalization for your preteen daughter.


I leave you with this little gem:
Sissy sleeping after a rage. Her journal, the offending party that incited the riot, is on her chest. The laundry I asked her to put away two days prior, still on the bed. Because it's easier to sleep on a bed with a giant basket of laundry than it is to actually put away said laundry. The camera flash woke her up and she shouted angrily, "I wasn't sleeping!!!!!!" What do YOU think she is doing then?


[1]What Baby Needs I highly recommend it for anyone whose child is missing pieces of attachment from infancy through late toddler years. Sissy has been entranced by this text and it has spurred many questions and conversations about her life story.


Friday, July 22, 2011

Feelings

Yes, the song has lost something over the years, though the lyrics remain poignant.


Corey wrote about anger and resentment and it's place in our lives as parents of traumatized, challenged or otherwise impaired children. Lastmom wrote about the need to keep hope alive while raising our children. Both positions are valid because, as the song reiterates, it all boils down to feelings.

Most women openly admit that their feelings vary from day to day, even hour by hour. Men suffer from the same emotionality, they just express it in different ways. No one expresses feelings better than our children, especially children that come out of trauma with attachment issues. The important thing to remember, as my therapist has pointed out many times in the last two years, is that though feelings have a reason and a source, they change. Thank God.

So I bring to the table, a brief account of grief stages which includes but is not limited to bouts of optimism and anger. There is room for both, it seems. And lest we be fools, let us not forget that with loss, grief never seems to subside, it only lessens. For many, the process of grief repeats itself many times over. For many more, they get stuck somewhere in the process and the overwhelming pain forces them to resort to vices they would not have otherwise chosen if they were in a rational state. Wiki reports a study in which 10-15% of persons in grief never recover. [1] In those instances, the sufferer may have already had a preexisting condition of depression or at the very least, a genetic predisposition.

Bottom line? All of us are in a different place emotionally with our lives. All of us are justified in our emotions. All of us will report different feelings tomorrow. For today, let us be kind and accept where our comrades are emotionally in the fight against RAD. It is the kindest thing we can offer one another: the freedom to feel and not be judged for those feelings.

For those of you that are in a rough patch or want more information, I invite you to visit this website that has links to other emotional challenges you might be suffering as well. Grief from webmd site.

And because Corey mentioned it in the blog post I linked above, here is the link to the Layers of Loss post I wrote in March.

I'll conclude with Shakespeare's thoughts as they pertain to this matter. A most profound individual even if some scholars argue that there was no way the volume of his work can be attributed to just one man. [2]

1. Listen to many, speak to a few
2. Give thy thoughts no tongue
3. This above all, to thine own self be true
4. The mind is troubled like a fountain stirred; and I myself see not the bottom of it
5. A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow.
6. This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
7. Love and reason keep little company together
8. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind
9. Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
10. Go girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
11. The course of true love never did run smooth.
12. There's place and means for every man alive.
13. In time we hate that which we often fear
14. Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.
15. There is a history in all men's lives
16. A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.
17. Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
18. To be wise and love exceeds man's might.
19. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger.
20. Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.
To read more quotes by Shakespeare, Click here




[1]wiki search on grief. Please scroll to the subsection titled: "Risks" for citation source.

[2]Did Shakespeare really write all those plays? All hail my alma mater: We are ... Penn State!

Monday, June 27, 2011

RESEARCH - the digging dog leaves no stone unturned

For those that need this information as well
(sorry, this is US data only.)
 


 


Disclaimer: the links provided here are not direct suggestions or opinions of the blogger. The intent is simply to assist in the reader's own research on topics of the disclosed nature and content.

1. state statutes on neglect or abandonment

2. mental health law organization

3. custody relinquishment: a pdf from Bazelon about the travesty of custody relinquishment to get a child with mental health needs appropriate care

4. Court appointed special advocates

5. NAMI document on the "custody relinquishment national scandal".

6. article about custody relinquishment many resources and options in Washington state. Why not elsewhere?

7. Maryland state pdf on custody relinquishment

8. blog dedicated to adoptive parents that are forced to relinquish custody to get appropriate services for traumatized and/or abused children

9. child and adolescent bipolar foundation and a forum discussion on custody relinquishment

10. california laws on no-fault dependency

11. no-fault dependency. I've had considerable difficulty nailing down a reasonable link for this option in relinquishing custody of a special needs minor child because the parent or guardian is unable to manage said child's level of care. Anyone that finds a reasonable link, comment and I'll edit.

12. CHINS(Massachusetts), CHINS Washington, CHINS Virginia, CHINS Georgia

13. Ungovernability

14. unruly minor another category I found lacking in sufficient online resources. Again, should you find adequate links, please let me know.

15.  when to contact a protection and advocacy system or client advocacy program national disability rights network lists advocacy groups in your state


Think you may know of a few other stones I've neglected to turn over?  Comment away.  I'll dig some more.

Friday, June 24, 2011

personality test

I'm a O41-C96-E83-A96-N3 Big Five!!

Click on the banner at the top of the personality quiz page to take your own quiz.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Stretching Grace

It takes GRACE to be kind
When faced with hatred.
 


Stained Glass at local historic Jesuit church

It takes GRACE to love
When you are despised.

grace (noun)
1.a : unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification b : a virtue coming from God c : a state of sanctification enjoyed through divine grace
2a : approval, favor b archaic : mercy, pardon c : a special favor : privilege d : disposition to or an act or instance of kindness, courtesy, or clemency e : a temporary exemption : reprieve
3a : a charming or attractive trait or characteristic b : a pleasing appearance or effect : charm c : ease and suppleness of movement or bearing
4. used as a title of address or reference for a duke, a duchess, or an archbishop
5. a short prayer at a meal asking a blessing or giving thanks
6. plural capitalized : three sister goddesses in Greek mythology who are the givers of charm and beauty
7. a musical trill, turn, or appoggiatura
8. a : sense of propriety or right b : the quality or state of being considerate or thoughtful

GRACE makes it possible to find beauty
Among thorns and brambles.

More glass from historic church
reminds me of dresden wheel in quilting

If you try hard enough
You can stretch the limits of GRACE
to the least among us.
grace(verb)
1: to confer dignity or honor on
2: adorn, embellish

How often has GRACE 
been extended to you
without  request for a return?

Stained Glass at Jesuit Church

For Grace are ye saved through faith, and not of yourselves it is the gift of God not of works lest any man should boast. Ephesians 2:8,9


If GRACE alludes you
perhaps it is because you have
alluded being found.

U2 - Grace

In this life, GRACE makes beauty
out of ugly things.

Our dog, Grace

GRACE finds goodness in everything.



The alter at a local historic Episcopal church

Give a little GRACE
Even though it be thrown back in your face.

More glass from the Episcopal church

Stretch GRACE beyond 
your limits
Because GRACE 
is limitless.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

31 hours

It's really hard to function today without the inevitable breathing in my face like an invisible fire breathing dragon. Sissy comes home tomorrow. Today is my last day of peace.

Here's a plus: Wii Fit says I'm only 34. Huzzah. I feel like I'm 64.

The therapist said "well, it's best to be positive. Perhaps Sissy will surprise you with what she has learned here."

So we asked Sissy what she learned. She hasn't learned a dang thing. We tried role playing. She blanked. "what? huh? what was the question?"

She told the therapist that "the staff was lying on her" about her sleeping behaviors. Right. Because a team of psychiatric staff is going to gang up on an 11 year old and lie in her charts about what she's doing.

When we asked the therapist about the fact that Sissy has continued to verbally state that she feels safe there, that she feels she'll return to her behaviors at home, the therapist said, "Unfortunately, statements aren't considered. Only behaviors. And her behaviors do not show that she is a threat." Isn't that a curious thing? Homeland Security will land your ass in jail if you are angry at a guy for banging up your car in the parking lot of the grocery store because you were verbally threatening someone and could therefore be conceived as a physical threat. But if a PSYCHIATRIC patient makes statements of intent while IN PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITALIZATION, those statements are ignored and not considered as applicable when considering behavioral risks.

When we told the therapist that we were concerned for our safety, she said, "I can hear your concern. Unfortunately I hear many stories like yours." Then she asked again if we would consider relinquishing custody.

I explained that in our state, that is VERY bad for the rest of the family. It is considered abandonment, we are investigated for child abuse, the other two go to foster care ... *trying not to cry*

We told the therapist we are getting a lawyer, that it's about protecting the four of us at this point. She said she understood but beseeched us to be positive about any progress Sissy may have made, to at least give her a chance to prove herself. We told her that past history has proven otherwise.

The therapist asked about an appeal to medicaid. We explained that the family therapist from the hospital had every intention of doing so but since she has been out on medical leave, we feel like the ball has been dropped in our daughter's case. The Dad reiterated that if an appeal could have been made but was not and Sissy harms herself or someone else, that a lawyer would be notified of the negligence.

Having talked to the new IFI supervisor the day before, she shares our concerns, that we'll be calling 911 on Sissy before the IFI team has a chance to do their intake on Wednesday morning.

Here's the scoop for others reading this story and wondering how to dodge the same path:
1. APS medical review boards, such as we have in our state, are in charge of deciding how state medicaid dollars are spent. Ultimately, it comes down to the dollar. [1] Is your child ultimately going to cost less in a facility or at home with community services? That's easy. On paper, it's at home, regardless of what the medical documentation says. APS covers their butts by reciting criterion for placement.

2. criterion for placement:
a. behaviors that have occurred within the last 30 days only.
b. behaviors, not statements or verbal threats
c. actively suicidal
d. actively self harming
e. actively threatening harm to others

3. Sweeping changes in mental health
the states are being bankrupted by medicaid, disability and social security. In most states, the average is 10% of the population suffers from mental health or developmental delays (or in my children's cases, both). But that 10% is costing hundreds of thousands of tax payers dollars. If you live in one of the poorer states in the nation or if the politicians in your state have misappropriated funds either through ear-marked legislation or poor budgeting, then you have a budgetary recipe for disaster.

ERGO: states are making prettily worded changes to mental health so they can justify closing state mental hospitals. Legislation is being passed right under our noses that says children under the age of 13 are best suited in a home environment regardless of their condition. Initiatives are being created to prove the point. In our state a 2011 initiative was to keep ALL children at home and that RTCs would be nothing more than short term/acute care facilities. There are no more long term state funded hospitals. In fact, our state is actively closing the facilities for adults as well. The legislators all say that it is based on research, that DBHDD patients are best served in their local communities. Except that most local communities do not have the services. And worse yet, the pay in those jobs is so piss-poor that they can only hire moderately adequate therapists who for the most part, have no friggin' clue.

4. relinquishment
It's a joke to think relinquishment provides a child with appropriate services. In our state, Sissy will just be put in foster care, which may or may not be a therapeutically trained place and put up for adoption (in the meantime we may or may not be liable to pay the state back for that foster placement). Along with the 2011 initiative, our state made group homes only available for ages 13 and older, with most of that population represented by juveniles with criminal histories. In other words, STILL not an appropriate placement for Sissy. Again, as with foster placement, we may be liable to pay for group home even after relinquishment. bottom line: that doesn't get Sissy the care she needs. In fact, it sets her up to age out of the system with no support, no advocates, no family. She'll go to drugs, alcohol and sex. Given: she may do that anyway while in our care, but the percentage of that happening is marginally lower.

5. Private vs. State facilities
If your state runs an APS medical review board to manage medicaid dollars, it requires a civil action lawsuit for the state to do a case-by-case consideration of using state dollars to pay for an out-of-state placement in a PRTF licensed facility. The hurdle is proving that an out of state placement will provide better care than the in-state hospitals while the state of your residency argues in court that it is a lateral move, that there is nothing more to be provided that your state hasn't already done. And if you've refused local community resources in any capacity, the henchmen will have your head.

Private facilities are not PRTF licensed. Here's where the rubber meets the road. Several months ago I called more than 40 national facilities trying to find a placement for Sissy. In a cold call with admissions with all but one, I was told that Sissy is too severe for their programs. Meanwhile, the state continued to tell me she wasn't severe enough for a PRTF. I didn't understand the hang up.

The one private facility I called I managed to talk to someone that was kind enough to be honest. He said that state facilities will NEVER provide adequate services for children like Sissy but private facilities will never be billable through medicaid because they are not PRTF licensed. Bottom line, he said? Pay out of pocket. And if you're broke, well, that's really sad. And if you've already spent your life savings on your child and are broke, even sadder. He said, "get a lawyer."

6. What's a PRTF?
PRTF facilities provide 24/7 nursing, psychological and psychiatric services. Private facilities do not have that kind of staff on site. Most have a medical team that is "on call" and the staff are trained to dose medications. In private facilities, children requiring more strict medical care are scheduled appointments and bussed to those appointments. The staff managing their unit then follow through with doctor orders. this is why medicaid won't pay for them. Medicaid, and in particular, APS review boards, do not acknowledge these facilities as "medical facilities" and therefore they are out of the requirement to pay.

7. In our state, having talked to a woman from kidlink dot net, we are in a particular damning situation. As soon as I said our state, she sighed and said, "oh dear. there isn't much I can do for you. I'm sorry." Unlike other states that are more willing to be supportive, our state, ranked 8th in the nation as the poorest and is in the top ten for the percentage of the state population that suffers from MH, DD, or SA only has two major metropolitan areas of tax payer dollars to support the entire state population. As a mostly rural state with an unusually high tax burden of disabled, indigent persons and a regrettably small budget, there is little that can be offered. The DBHDD region we live in is the largest but is second to last in state budget allocation of funding for services. What's worse, when DBHDD began restructuring under the "new initiatives" in 2007, many of our resources were sent to the metropolitan areas of the state, both of which are three hour drives from here. In other words, what I've been screaming for the last four years is spot on truth. There are no other resources available to us that will benefit Sissy.

8. Move?
Moving is another can of worms. First, let's start with the fact that I have a SECOND impaired child that is thriving in this community. Moving would uproot him and put him in crisis. Second, The Dad's business is a local business. All of our clientele is here. Moving requires us to sell the business (in a flagging economy) and restart somewhere else. It has taken many years to build the clientele we have and beyond the SSDI we get for AB and Sissy, it is our sole source of income. Third, we could move to a state that has written laws the protect us from being forced to relinquish custody of our special needs child. But it takes months to get on the state medicaid program, find physicians, etc. I can't pay for the thousands of dollars of medications Sissy and AB take every month. Six months of waiting to get back "on the system" would be unbearable.

9. Private adoption
Oh, now there's a kitschy idea. On my own, try to find a family to adopt Sissy. Hrm. Without naming names, I have friendships with several women that have done this, or tried. If you think our story is harrowing, you haven't heard ANYTHING.

How can there be such a disparity between therapeutic and psychological opinions, state budgets, private facilities and the grappling of parents to provide adequate support for their children while protecting themselves and their other children? How do we prevent double jeopardy (abandonment charge if we relinquish custody, failure to protect charge if she hurts AB or WG)? How do we live a functional life with a child that will never be functional? How do we get restitution for doing a "good deed" by adopting a challenged child only to discover that we're on our own and that WE face criminal liabilities, not the birth parents that harmed her to begin with? How do we create a future for Sissy that doesn't repeat the pattern over and over with unwanted pregnancies of more challenged children that are abused in her care? How do we educate the public without becoming cynical? How do we overcome the incredible loss of relationships with people that don't understand what is happening to our family and to our daughter? How do we find therapists that are actually more knowledgeable than we are? IS there such a thing?!?! How do we still have faith in a higher deity that seems to ignore our pleas for help? How do we ask church for help when they don't understand mental illness, when clergy aren't even properly educated about it?

All I wanted for Sissy was a better future than her birthmother has.
All I wanted for The Dad and I was a functional family.
All I wanted for me was love and happiness.
All I've gotten is pain.

31 hours and Sissy will be through my front door and I have nothing more for her than I had when she happily and gaily left here 97 days ago.

[1]in an effort to understand the many nuances of various mental health, substance abuse and developmental delay diseases, i watch many documentaries, reality and talk-show programs on these topics. Most recently, in a Hoarders episode, the narrator pointed out that in 15 years, it has cost tax payers upwards of $500,000 dollars to support just ONE hoarder. The program lists that there are more than 3 million hoarders. Yes, mental illness is an enormous tax burden. Yes, I acknowledge that Sissy is one too. But how much more of a burden will she be if she doesn't get appropriate care NOW, when it matters, so we prevent her from having criminal offenses, drug and alcohol addictions, STDs requiring medical intervention and offspring with equally damning mental health and developmental delays?!?!? I say the bottom line is the dollars spent TODAY save tax payers hundreds of thousands of dollars LATER. APS doesn't agree. They're looking at what is currently in the state budget, not what they'll have to pay later. Perhaps, they counting on the fact that a child that is suicidal at age 9 is more likely to die prematurely of a self-inflicted injury, overdose, criminal or domestic violence or any of the many other preventable premature deaths if a person lives a safe, healthy lifestyle?

Monday, June 6, 2011

Sneak Peak

I've mentioned a few times that I am making a few lap-sized quilts to auction in Corey's Christmas in July auction to raise money for Orlando. The items will be shipped to Corey and posted on her blog for the auction. Today I'm giving you a sneak peak at one of them.

The top panel of the Christmas Throw quilt
Finished size 46 inches x 65 inches

"Fussy Cut" [1]corners that have a different Santa in each (sorry, they're white Santas. It's hard to find neutral toned or dark skinned Santa christmas fabric!)

The back of the quilt which says "Holiday Wishes", "Peace" and "Noel" in red, green and gold

When I get the other panels assembled, I'll let you have a sneak peek at those too. And as I mentioned earlier, so far what I'm using is from my personal stash and from gifts that other readers have sent. The average lap sized quilt start-to-finish costs about $45 USD to make. If you are interested in helping with the fund raiser but don't think you will be making any purchases in the auction, I will gladly accept donations of scrap fabric, large scraps of batting and/or JoAnn's gift cards. If you like, I will be glad to send copies of receipts so you can be sure I've spent the money on these projects.

Long overdue, some pictures of WG's recital. There was a no-camera policy so I snapped a quick shot at the house on the day of the rehearsal and then while she was on the stage at rehearsal. (She's front row, far left) This is her tap costume. With all the hustle and bustle with the costume change, I forgot to get a picture of her in the ballet costume.



[1]"fussy cut" is a quilting term in which you cut fabric to get a particular shape, image, phrase or pattern to appear in the finished quilt after piecing. The first time I said it to WG, she was confused. "Mom, does that mean you go 'AUUUUGGGHHH!!!!' and make a big fuss and THEN you cut the fabric?" I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe because in addition to screaming like a wild banshee, her rendition of fussing, she shook her body all over in quasi contortions. Then added when I finally stopped giggling, "you know, how Sissy does?" Which made me laugh even harder.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Where are you?

photo from Country Goose B&B  in Rhode Island
The kids' last day of school was last Thursday. Friday was the dress rehearsal for WG's dance recital day and AB-pukes-his-brains-out day.  Saturday was the recital and The Dad's birthday. Sunday was pretend-church-doesn't-exist day and put-a-window-AC-unit-in-the-kitchen-window day, which, as it turned out, was easier said than done.

Monday was follow-the-therapist's-advice-day so I drove to my MIL's in the country where I intend to stay until next Monday. I need to clear my head, I need to stop hurting, I need to feel free and I need to be allowed to feel free.

Tuesday was drive-to-the-beach day and accidentally-get-a-sunburn-while-floating-in-the-surf day. It was also AB-and-WG-love-hate-each-other day and eat-way-too-much-mcdonald's-day and see-lots-of-dead-jellyfish day.

Wednesday is go-to-the-hospital-for-an-audit-of-Sissy's-case day and do-another-pointless-therapy-session-with-Sissy day and hopefully not learn-that-sissy-will-be-discharged-in-two-weeks day because that would mess up

Thursday which is quilt-like-a-mad-woman-while-pretending-my-heart-isn't-breaking day and teach-WG-how-to-ride-without-training-wheels day.

better living through modern chemistry? sure, that's true except modern chemistry only fixes the symptoms, not the root problem. My root problem? I'll siphon it for you verbatim from the movie Proof:

How many days have I lost? How can I get back to the place where I started? I’m outside a house trying to find my way in but it’s locked and the blinds are down and I’ve lost the key and I can’t remember what the rooms look like and where I put anything. And if I dare go inside I wonder, will I ever be able to find my way out?

If I go back to the beginning I cold start it over again, I could go line by line, try to find a shorter way, I could try to make it… better.

At a dollar store on my road trip to my MIL's on Monday, the children needed to use the restroom and wanted a snack. As I waited patiently for them to take turns using the facilities, I read the employee notices pinned to the bulletin board in the hallway. "Your doing a great job, team!" was handwritten in pink highlighter on a spreadsheet showing the previous month's sales numbers. I opened my purse and got out a red crayon, the closest I had toa pink highlighter, and added an apostrophe between the 'u' and the 'r' and tacked on an 'e' at the end.

How does one become a general manager of a Dollar Store if s/he doesn't know the difference between your and you're, I wondered? How does one with a colossal brain and proclivity for science and mathematics, potential to become and do amazing things in her lifetime become the low-income adoptive mother of special needs children including an 11 year old that requires repeat psychiatric hospitalization for suicidal ideation and self-harming behaviors?

Thankfully AB exited the restroom before I was forced to answer my rhetorical question, a painful truth for which I have not the strength to face, modern chemistry notwithstanding.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Quilting the Blues

Sitemeter is telling me my readership is dropping. Well, when you don't have scary stuff to talk about because your RADling is safely tucked away in a hospital and when you're busy living life without the chaos and drama of said RADling, then there isn't much to talk about.

Except there is.

In November, after months of grinding my teeth while I slept because of the fear that Sissy would hurt me (even with the alarm set) and because it was just that traumatic and violent all day long, I lost a filling. And because we're living on the edge of U.S. poverty level without insurance, I had to pay down my credit card that is used specifically for medical expenses. And since Sissy was still wango-tango until her placement in March, the tooth, the money, my well being all got put on hold. This past Monday I finally made it to the dentist.

"Doc. Before you look in my mouth, you have to know a few things." I clued him in to my insane life and that it isn't because I'm intentionally negligent with my teeth but that it was a burgeoning set of circumstances that kept me away. Of course, the tooth was decayed to the bone, not salvageable. Doc was nice. He took x-rays of the others. The other side of my mouth is threatening to suffer the same fate so I have to go back in a month to repair the damage before I lose more. Then he referred me to an oral surgeon that did an emergency extraction Tuesday morning.

I left the dentist and saw the voicemail on the cell phone. The Dad and a 40 foot extension ladder had a wrestling match while I was in the chair. The ladder won but not before The Dad kept it from destroying the customer's house. The Dad's arm? Not so much.

So Tuesday was fun. Me on percocet with a swollen mouth, The Dad on prednisone with a cortizone shot in his arm. Fun times.

Then AFO's for AB on Wednesday (i forgot the camera) and back to my PCP to discuss the panic attacks and my meds. Well, panic is morphing into depression. No surprise there. So a slight med switch and the suggestion from my therapist that the PCP write a letter on my behalf to the hospital therapy team where Sissy is at to let them know that I'm being treated for situational panic and depression as a result of my child's severe needs.

It's a crap shoot but Sissy's case is being audited on the 25th of this month, a meeting I can't miss. For now, medicaid has approved her stay through the 6th of June but her meds have just been increased and she's not responding to therapy.  In other words, she may have bought herself more time. The hospital is making noise about pulling PDD-NOS off her charts so she can repeat IFI and CBAY, two excellent services ... provided the youth is receptive to that treatment plan. One long, harrowing year of those services and Sissy changed nothing. Not one damn thing. In fact, she got worse. So I'm bringing biograndma with me because she can cite family history and I'm bringing the letter from my PCP and we're going on a wing and a prayer that Sissy will stay longer than June 6th.

I like my newly found quiet, happy life. I know I'm on drugs to help me enjoy it, but the thought, just the mere thought of Sissy being home and my heart races. It is right now, just typing these words. And now tears ...

I don't really want to be the momma that has to say, "i can't raise my daughter. I love her but I just can't. It's killing me." I just don't want to be that mom. I don't think I have a choice. I love my life too much. I love that the other three people in my family are happy too.

I've also learned that I'm a slow healer. Funny, that I am just now realizing that at age 36. This tooth extraction has been tough. Recovering from the panic attacks and taking it slow to ward off depression has been slow. Recovering from the fall at the pool four weeks ago took three weeks and I still have a bruise on my leg. I'm just slow to heal. I'm also slow to process emotions. I get in a place emotionally and it just takes me time to walk through it.

Seems strange to make this revelation about myself, I doubt many people actually think about how long it takes them to heal. Turns out, I'm just slow at it.

This is the last week of school for my crew. AB's triathalon is tomorrow. Monday The Dad and I have to see Sissy for therapy and an on-campus TL. WG has her award ceremony Tuesday and a dance recital Saturday which is also The Dad's birthday. Then I'm taking my therapist's advice and getting out of here. Going some place quiet and green to think, to rest, to recuperate. With the exception of the audit at the hospital on the 25th, I'm not thinking about it. I don't want to spend my time without Sissy panicking or crying. It's hard but I'm not going to do it.

So, since I'm such a slow healer, I'm quilting. And others are quilting for me, a first.  No one has ever made a quilt for ME before!

May Quilt Panel - sandwiched
made with scraps some readers have sent me!!! THANKS!!!!

Quilted and waiting for the binding to be tacked down
The quilting is random strings in gold - my quilt interpretation of Starry Starry Night

A quilt panel the kids' grandma got for me
border added, triangles attached, pillow-cased and quilted

Baby Blues - flannel for my sister's baby
I have to finish hand quilting the cross-hatching in the nine-patches!!!

 More scraps a reader has sent - recovered old sofa pillows and ...

made matching valances for the back door

and back window!

The kids' grandma's quilt group made this prayer quilt for our family

paper piecing?!?
kids' grandma is talking me through it
Pie in the Sky is going to be the June Wall hanging!

On Thursday, the kids' grandma and I went to her quilt group/bible study where they presented me with my quilt.  We worked on paper piecing, had lunch, I took a percocet and tossed my lunch on the drive home (literally, hung my head out the window at a traffic light and hurled it all out.  fun times).  Really, I'm a SSSSSLLLLLOOOOOWWWWWW healer.  slow. Snails?  They got  nothing on me.

Anyway, while at the meeting, they read this quilter's prayer that made me cry.  It embodies who I am and what I do while I quilt.  Quilters prayer for the original site. And before I post the prayer, many, many HUGE thanks to everyone that has sent me fabric. I have been able to quilt my fingers raw without spending much money. In fact, in some cases, I've only spent the money for the batting. Words can't say how much I appreciate your generosity.

On that note, because it is helping me heal, I want to return the favor. I would like to make some lap-sized quilts for auction to raise scholarship money for Orlando 2012. If you have scraps, finished blocks without a purpose, unfinished projects, or other quilt notions that are taking up space, please consider donating them so I can turn them into love (and money) so other hurting moms can get some time away in Orlando.


Lastly, the prayer:
Guide my hands to work as Your hands work, to know the power of Your love in every stitch I make, in every thread I knot. May my hands be guided by the same love and care with every quilt I make, knowing that this love and care was and is and will continue to be a gift of blessing to the one it is intended for.

May the works of my hands be pleasing in Your sight, O God.

Lord, bless my work today.

As I choose materials and patterns, may I be reminded of the uniqueness You blessed us all with.

As I cut each length of thread, may I be reminded of the doors that must be closed in our lives so that a new and stronger door may be opened.

As I twist each knot, may I be reminded of a bond of love so strong, nothing will break it.

As I run the thread between my fingers, may I be reminded of the times You have touched my life, my heart, my soul.

As I sew each stitch, may I be reminded of the healing power of Your grace in each of us.

As I concentrate on my craft, may I be reminded of the love and care You put into each of our lives.

As I add my last stitch, tie my last knot, cut the final cord, may I be reminded of the completeness with which You commanded in each of us before we were ever given to this life.

"Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom." (Ecclesiastes 9:10)